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Saucy Shorts for Chefs
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Presents a collection of short stories, mixed with delicious recipes. Divided into starters, main courses and desserts, this aims to be a literary candle-lit dinner.
Accent Press Ltd; September 2006
ISBN 9781433703362
Read online, or download in secure PDF format or MobiPocket
ISBN 9781433703362
Read online, or download in secure PDF format or MobiPocket
Excerpt
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I knew he was Italian from the very first moment I set eyes on
him. He had those dark, penetrating eyes and that moody
expression. I remember the way he looked at me as I approached
the counter, through long, luxurious, black eyelashes. When he
spoke in a husky accented voice, I wasn’t disappointed.
“Ciao, Bella, what can I get you?” Alright, it was a corny line
but who was complaining? I ordered a mozzarella and tomato
panini and a large decaf, skinny latte. “Come on,” he teased, “you
don’t need a skinny Latte, you already a skinny lady.” If only, I
still couldn’t get into my favourite pair of jeans despite constant
dieting. But Italians like their women curvy, don’t they? So, I took
it as a compliment with a sprinkling of humour from a very dishy
Italian chef.
Six months later, I walked into the same café, wearing my
favourite pair of jeans with room to spare. But I didn’t need to
place my order. I just sat at ‘my table’ as Luigi endearingly
referred to it. I waited while he prepared something low fat and
delicious for me.
Sometimes, when he isn’t too busy, he joins me at ‘my table’,
sips Espresso and tells me stories about his childhood in Sicily
and I listen with total abandonment. Luigi has this special gift,
you see, he can make any woman feel like a princess, regardless
of age, shape or size. Only, I’m short of one thing… a prince
charming, but hopefully that’s all about to change. I’m feeling a
bit jittery about taking Luigi home to meet mum. Who’d have
thought that, after all those dates, Luigi would be the one to fit the
bill? Doubtless, she’ll have her reservations, she always does, but
he’s the only one who passed ‘the food test’, so she can’t
complain about that. Let me explain. Mum has this theory about
eating habits. “You can tell a lot about people by the way they eat their
food, Lucy, all you have to do is learn how to read them,” she said
over Sunday lunch three weeks ago.
“What, you mean like tarot reading?” I teased, knowing that
mum hated anything to do with predictions.
“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,” she took a sip of wine then fixed
me with one of her looks and I knew I wasn’t going to like what
was coming next. “That speed dating thingy you’re going on with
Carol?” My eyes narrowed suspiciously, I was wondering when
we’d get round to this.
“Yeah, go on,” I said, cutting into my roast chicken a little
harder than intended.
“Well, I was wondering if you’d do me a favour?”
“What kind?” I asked guardedly. Surely she didn’t want to
come with us now she was single again?
“Have dinner with each man who contacts you on your list,
study their eating habits then report back to me. I swear I’ll pick
out your prince charming for you.” I let out a sigh of relief. And I
dubiously agreed. What harm could it do? And it would give me a
peaceful life.

